01x02 - Dead Girl Walking

[bunniefuu]

Everybody dies.

That's just the way it is.

I'm told I'm not supposed to argue or question or even try to understand.

I'm told a lot these days.

Ever since my life was snuffed out by a toilet seat from a space station and I joined the undead and became a grim reaper.

This is Rube.

He's my boss.

He's undead too.

He gets the list: who's to die when and where, which he passes on to the rest of us grim reapers.

- This is what we look like to the living.

- Holy sh*t! My name is George Lass.

This was my home and this was my family.

Dad, my sister Reggie, and Mom.

- They're having trouble coping.

So am I.

- I want my life back! - ETD? - Estimated Time of Death.

The first one's never easy.

She's just a little girl.

She can't die.

It's cruel.

You can't change fate.

You march over there and take her soul quick.

- Wait! - You can't go where she's going.

- What is it? - It's not for us to know.

My name is George Lass and I've been dead for seven days.

OK.

That's a little dramatic.

I'm actually undead.

A modern-day grim reaper.

I can take the souls of people about to die.

f*cking nightmare! But I can't open my front door.

It would help to have a key, but when you're squatting in some dead guy's apartment, you can't expect a mint on your pillow.

Even with this seemingly divine power that I have, I don't get paid a cent, I can't disappear or fly or walk through walls What a sh*t-hole.

.

.

and I had to live in this guy's apartment that was really messy.

Kind of like his death.

Every night I laid in bed and went over the facts again and again.

I think I lived a normal life.

- Get up! - Mom.

Get out of bed and go to work.

You will collect a paycheck and move out of this house.

And then I was k*lled.

Aw, sh*t! I became a reaper, lifting the souls I was told to take.

It's f*cking weird.

It's not our job to drop the pianos or the toilet seats.

- Whose job is it? - Gravelings.

Sleep.

Maybe next week I'll get used to it.

Maybe next week it'll make more sense.

Maybe next week I won't sleep in the back of my parents' car.

My name is George Lass.

I d*ed when I was 18 years old.

I take souls for a living.

And these are the days of my afterlife.

Oh, good Christ! Who are you? I live here.

- Were you Brandon's girlfriend? - Yes.

Friends and family usually want a piece of you after you die.

After all, who you are is what you left behind.

Actually, that's mine.

Oh.

That and the, um TV.

We gave him that TV.

Did you even know Brandon? A little bit.

But not really though.

I moved in the day we met.

Was this before or after he d*ed? Same day.

Please don't take the TV.

But for me, it wasn't what I left behind .

.

it was who.

- Hello, Claire.

- Hi.

Um What is it, Claire? This is difficult for me.

I mean, it's difficult for me to be telling you this.

- It's about your daughter, Reggie.

- What about her? I just think what you're doing could be considered a form of abuse.

Why did you tell Claire that I don't let you go to the bathroom? Did you tell anyone else I don't let you go? Who? The Gibsons and the McMinns.

And the Lees.

Jesus, Reggie! I could be arrested! Do you want me to go to jail? Why? Why would you tell them that? So they'd let me use their bathroom.

What is wrong with our bathroom? Nothing.

Reggie, you are freaking me out.

Reapers don't get a free ride.

Roxy works for the city.

- There's a minute left.

Write the ticket.

- Let me do my job, man.

Where do all the coins go? It doesn't seem big enough.

There's this network of pressurised vacuum tubes under the sidewalk.

The meters drop off their reservoir every three or four hours, it sucks through the tubes and dumps into the basement of the parking office.

- Oh, my God.

Really? - You got sh*t for brains, man.

I got the keys and these bad boys hold more than you think.

- Roxy, come on.

Give him the ticket.

- Whoa! Wait! - Wait! I'm coming.

- Not fast enough.

- I'm here.

- It's done, sir.

- I got change.

Look.

- It's done, sir.

- Come on, I'm right here.

- It's done.

Lady, you saw me coming over.

You need to step off, sir.

- f*cking robot.

- You don't know me.

"Look at me.

I'm so powerful.

I can write a ticket on the fancy sports car.

" So you can go home at night to your f*cking TV dinner and feel better about your lousy life.

You wake up every morning wondering what the world's gonna do for you, wondering who's gonna bend over backwards and kiss your ass.

Just thank God for another day and leave it the f*ck at that.

- Take this ticket back.

- No.

- Hey, my friend.

Come on.

- I am not your friend, my friend! Cool it! Sir, I'll say this as politely as possible.

I will f*ck you up.

- Are you kidding me? - You don't know me.

- I'm gonna report you.

- You really don't know my boss.

Have a nice day.

What's with the piece? These things can just drag on and on.

OK.

People say the Lord works in mysterious ways.

As if that makes all the shitty things in life any sweeter.

Death is equally mysterious .

.

but there's no sugar-coating that turd.

Be it divine intervention or natural selection .

.

everyone's got an appointment.

You may not know the time or the place .

.

but we do.

He was slumped over the table with the vacuum cleaner.

- I think he was having sex with it.

- Upright? - Slumped over.

- The vacuum cleaner.

Oh.

No, the other kind, with the hose.

I need a vacuum cleaner, but I want an upright.

Our friends down at County General need volunteers to help with appointment overflow.

Any takers? - What do you get? - What do you mean? - Why should I do it? - How about a good deed for good deed's sake? - Yeah.

How about that? - No, seriously.

- Do you get anything? - You get a coupon, peanut, from me.

That coupon is redeemable for one favour.

You don't have any coupons, so you don't have any favours.

See? Coupons don't pay my rent.

I County-ed once.

Everybody was sad.

One lady was so upset, she had a snot bubble.

She got so mad when I told her.

- I think I'd like to pass.

- All I can do is ask.

I didn't get a Post-it.

- You're riding shotgun.

- Beg pardon? George thinks it's her call whether people live or die, so she needs a chaperone.

Today, you're it.

Couldn't we have taken a cab? Do you have money for a taxi? I don't.

- Aren't there any commuter buses? - I don't see any.

- Hi, there.

- Hi.

- Hi.

- Thank you so much for stopping.

You ladies are gonna catch your death of cold.

Hop in.

I don't mean to piss all over this, but We're on the edge of nowhere with ten miles to go and I'm wearing Blahniks.

Do you know how many people d*ed for me to get these? - Uh, no.

- Five.

Five people had to.

That alone makes them special.

I am really trying to respect you, Toilet Seat, I am, but it's hard sometimes.

I know we'll work it out.

We both just have to be a little more tolerant.

In the meantime, you should get in the g*dd*mn car.

There was a sweetness to Betty, an ease in which she got the job done.

Say, are you one of them Garson boys? - I am.

- I know your daddy.

- You know Daddy? - Mm-hm.

I sure do.

- How's your momma? - She's just fine.

So nice of you to ask after her.

Your beautiful mother used to make the most darling quilts I ever saw.

- Momma made quilts? - Mm-hm.

She named them too.

One of them was "Autumn Leaves in Moonlight" and one was "Serendipity".

I can't believe my ears.

- Can I take your picture? - Hell, yeah.

Betty liked being a reaper.

It was painless for her.

Happy thoughts.

And I hated her for that.

I couldn't get past the k*lling part.

It didn't matter if I could put a smile on a dead man's lips .

.

I still felt like an accomplice to m*rder.

Maybe we should get out here.

You don't want me to wait until you get your next ride? You are the sweetest.

I wonder if she wanted to save him, or if she wanted to be bad.

What would you be doing if you hadn't picked us up? - I guess I'd be driving.

- Then that's what you should do.

You have a wonderful evening.

What a nice man.

There was no signpost for me, at least not one that I wanted to follow.

I was rudderless.

I didn't belong.

Was I the only bad person? Didn't anybody else wanna be bad? There's a ridiculous amount of gum under here.

- Don't touch it.

Wash your hands.

- It's gum.

It's been in somebody's mouth with germs.

Germs are everywhere.

It's viruses you need to watch out about.

- I think there are viruses on there too.

- No.

Viruses need a biologically-active environment to survive.

Synthetic rubbers and artificial flavourings are not biologically active.

- That is sick.

- Isn't saliva biologically active? - Über-waffle? - Thank you.

And Das Mexi-Fest.

You ordered Mexican food in a German waffle house? It was on the menu.

It has all the flavours of the world.

I used to think that soul food meant it came from Korea.

You know Seoul is a city in Korea.

- Excuse me.

Do you have any crackers? - You mean besides you? They come with the soup.

You want soup? - No, thank you.

- Get a job if you're hungry.

- Do you like fries? - Yeah.

Thank you.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

I don't do beans.

I got consistency problems.

Lima beans, black beans, pinto beans, I don't do that sh*t.

I feel the same about custardy foods.

Custardy and lumpy.

Tapioca's like hell to me.

I can have yoghurt, but it has to have cereal in it.

I was undead and kicking, but at a loss on how to live.

And carving my own path seemed like way too much work.

How do you know it was her? - Well, I had an interesting day today.

- Oh? - Took the afternoon off and went shopping.

- Good for you.

Went to three Home Depots to buy toilet seats for Reggie's school.

You'll never guess why.

I only took one.

Jason Murray and Steven Schultz took all the rest.

I called Jason Murray and Steven Schultz.

They said you're an effing liar.

Don't let me catch you using that word.

- She even got the one in the teacher's lounge.

- No, I didn't.

Reggie! Go to your room.

I got some referrals for a child psychologist.

I'll interview people on Monday.

- She doesn't need therapy.

- She needs something.

Life is like an assembly line.

First you have the great idea, the master plan.

You make the prototype and you start mass producing.

Billions and billions.

They don't last forever.

Nothing does.

And it's your job to take 'em off the shelf.

You're helping to restock life, peanut.

This pill wasn't going down any easier.

Two family packs of mini waffles.

I know that if this was supposed to last, it would.

Don't let that be a bad thing any more than it is.

That's sage advice, but I think it's stupid to put me in this position.

I could have a nervous breakdown.

I'm very prone to anxiety att*cks.

Big deal.

I don't think I'm supposed to be doing this.

If somebody else were supposed to be doing this, I'd be with them.

But I don't know anything about anything! You think I do? Most of the time I'm talking out of my ass.

I don't know sh*t.

When we're supposed to know something, we'll know it.

I lost my train of thought.

What was I saying? Yes.

Be patient, for Christ's sake.

You're learning.

Just smell some f*cking roses already.

I'll never understand the instinct to miniaturise food.

- Bite-size.

- That's not bite-size.

I can't put this into my mouth.

- You got a little doggy box? - You got it.

- Now my fingers are sticky.

- You ate three of them.

You wanna get my wallet out of my pocket? Please.

Back pocket.

Right.

Thank you very much.

You do the honours.

Pick this up for me.

I'm gonna get some air.

Can I help you? - Say, aren't you one of them Roth boys? - Yup.

As I stood there staring at the soon-to-be-dead man, I thought of him like a box of waffles whose expiration date had come up.

- Can I get my bill? - Sure.

I wonder how Mr Waffle's gonna bite it? Then there were the monkeys in the works.

Monkey see .

.

monkey do.

Somebody call an ambulance.

Urgh! - Hold still.

- Ow! - OK? - You fucker! How are ya doing, dead guy? Reapers heal way too fast.

I wanted to be damaged beyond repair.

Incapacitated.

If I couldn't do it, they couldn't make me do it.

Could they? I mean, maybe if death could take a holiday That's not right.

That's not right.

Maybe I can quit.

- Do you guys smell urinal cake? - I smell strawberries.

- Does it smell like strawberries? - Strawberries and urine.

- What happened to the sign? - Fell down and k*lled somebody.

- No sh*t? Who? - Monty.

- Who? - Fellow with the miniature food at the counter.

Oh, I don't know him.

Must have been new.

- Is there a reason I'm still waiting here? - No.

Seven and two bits each.

That includes tip.

That's for you.

Hold on, buddy.

Here you go.

I was a deserter.

And there wasn't much he could do about it.

I didn't sign anything, didn't agree to anything and I sure as sh*t didn't shake anyone's hand.

Come on, George.

Open the f*cking door.

I took no responsibility .

.

but that didn't stop him trying to force it on me.

I convinced myself if I didn't touch it, I wasn't obligated.

If I wasn't obligated, I had no responsibility.

But what happens if somebody has an appointment with death .

.

and death doesn't show up? Is there a reprieve? Does that somebody's name go back in the hat? Or does death get penalised? Maybe someone was trying to send me a message.

Reggie? Reggie, open the door! Go away! I have diarrhoea.

How's your tummy? You want some more Pepto-Bismol? OK.

Do I have to go to therapy? Not if you don't want to.

Way to enable.

You know, you can talk to us about stuff.

If you want to.

All right.

Well - Good night.

- Night.

Don't think I've forgotten about the toilet seats.

It was like an alternate universe where I didn't exist.

There were no goatees or gold lamé sashes.

Just a hole where I used to be.

And everyone was making sure to step around it.

I gotta pay rent? f*ck.

Consciousness depends on how much blood you got in your brain.

- Does it? - Yes.

The more blood flow through your brain, the better it works.

How does a hole in your skull get more blood to your brain? I thought it'd be the opposite.

Yeah.

I asked the same question.

They gave me an answer.

I'm fairly certain it made sense.

I just can't be bothered to remember it.

OK.

What does this have to do with getting a day job? Stimulation.

Monotony is the mind k*ller.

You're not gonna get blood pumping sitting behind a desk.

- Stimulation don't pay my rent.

- Then learn to live off the wild.

It all sounded very glamorous.

But I had to consider the source.

After all, he drilled a hole in his head chasing a permanent high.

Too bad.

It got away from him.

- How much do you need? - 650 dollars.

- It's a lot of money for a sh*t-hole.

- Yeah.

- Have you spoken to Rube? - No.

Is he mad at me? You missed an appointment.

I can't imagine he's tickled.

All right.

You can have this one if you carry it.

My arms are already asleep.

- Can't I just take one of these? - You can take the lighter one That f*cking hurt! Rube wants to see you at the morgue.

Hi.

- We're looking for JP Davis.

- You're all relations? Yeah.

As fate would have it, JP Davis was gonna die with or without me.

There was no forfeit and his name didn't go back in the hat.

- May we have a moment please? - Oh, of course.

- Well, you really f*cked the dog, peanut.

- What? - "What?" You had an appointment.

- I didn't make an appointment.

b*at her.

It doesn't matter who made it.

You had an appointment.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but mission accomplished.

You're wrong.

That was me correcting you.

- I'm confused.

- He's still in there, you silly bitch.

God! Oh, God! God! Oh, God! No, please Oh, God! Holy sh*t! Is he in pain? Physically? No.

He's dead.

But emotionally? I imagine this is pretty traumatic.

Holy sh*t! Why didn't somebody do something? It's not somebody's job.

It's yours.

Oh, that's That's stupid.

This isn't my fault.

It's not my fault.

It's not Roxy's fault.

That's such bullshit.

This is life and death.

- She's finally figuring that out.

- f*ck you! Life and death can be simple.

Just do as I say.

Cop a feel before this guy unspools.

Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God.

Oh, God.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Cause and effect, peanut.

Butterfly wings.

Ripples in the pond.

However you wanna put it.

What you do now matters.

What you don't do matters.

Now say you're sorry.

I'm sorry.

It wasn't my fault.

This lovely lady is gonna show you some very pretty lights.

- You go on ahead.

- What kind of lights? He said pretty, didn't he? - I can't do this.

- Sure you can.

- You have to.

- I don't have to do sh*t.

Do you like spaghetti, George? I like spaghetti.

I like board games.

I like grabbing a trifecta with that long sh*t on top.

That ozone smell you get from air purifiers.

And I like knowing the space between my ears is immeasurable.

Mahler's First, Bernstein conducting.

Think about all the things you like and decide whether they're worth sticking around for.

If they are, you'll find a way to do this.

- What if I don't? - Then you go away.

Then you don't get to like anything any more.

- Hello, Claire.

- Hi.

I had another visit from your daughter today and, uh Well, um She took something.

Reggie! Get your ass down here right now! Thanks, Claire.

We'll get it back to you as soon as we find it.

OK.

Any chance you might know when that would be? - No.

- OK.

I thought about all the things I liked and all the things I didn't like, and I realised you can like something and not like it at the same time.

Not like loving unconditionally.

That's an act of desperation.

This was different.

Like respecting somebody for being a mess because you're a mess too.

It was reassuring to finally find someone else who wanted to be bad.

And if was horrifying to know it wasn't just what I do now that matters.

Jesus Christ! It was what I did then.

I wasn't done liking things.

I wasn't done not liking things.

I wasn't done.

Mildred Hagen? - Hi.

I'm Delores Herbig.

As in - Her big brown eyes.

Well, you must know a Herbig or two.

Yeah.

I know a Barbara.

Barbara Herbig.

I think she made quilts or something.

How q*eer.

Why don't you come with me? So I forged ahead.

I found a way.

Can I call you Millie? Yeah.

OK.

And I'm trying to let that be a good thing, as deviant as that might sound.

After all, it's hard to piss and moan about not having a purpose in life when death handed it to me on a platter.